


Feet!

by litsasecret



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-18
Updated: 2010-09-18
Packaged: 2017-10-12 01:39:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/litsasecret/pseuds/litsasecret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pure smarm/fluff. Tommy and Adam are in a waiting room, and understandably bored.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feet!

**Author's Note:**

> It's all [](http://retrochic-21.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**retrochic_21**](http://retrochic-21.dreamwidth.org/)'s fault. I simply took the stuff she said in IM and turned it into a fic. Ty bb.

The waiting room is fairly standard, as waiting rooms go. Tommy grabs the first magazine off the stack next to the plasticky couch and squirms around to get comfortable. Adam shoves his feet off his lap straight away, so Tommy flips them up over the back of the couch, careful to keep them behind Adam's head.

By the time he's gotten to "Best and Worst", he's wiggled all the way around so his ass is wedged against the back of couch and his hair is dangling free.

Adam looks up from his iPhone and frowns. Tommy waggles his eyebrows at him.

"You know, a lot of effort went into designing this couch to be as ergonomically perfect as possible."

Tommy snorts.

"Your back is going to thank me later. Come on, roll over."

Tommy rolls his eyes. "I'm not your pet dog," he says, ignoring the muttered 'thank God for that,' from Adam and continuing. "Besides, it increases blood-flow to my brain, aids in reading comprehension."

Adam snatches his magazine away. "You need approximately zero reading comprehension for an US Weekly from last month, Tommy."

Tommy grabs the next magazine off the stack. It's a Redbook from two months ago. He bounces his feet on the back of the couch and thumbs through for something worth reading.

"Hey," Adam protests. "You're messing up my hair!"

Tommy deliberately kicks, laughing quietly when Adam ducks and grins at him. "At least take off your shoes," he says, so Tommy does, dropping them somewhere over his head.

He goes back to his magazine. Adam grabs his foot. "Hey," Tommy says, "I'm learning about 12 Tasty Ways to Stay Slim!"

"Yeah? I doubt any of them involve stuffing your face with massive amounts of food and relying on the metabolism of a lemur to keep it from going to your thighs."

"As a matter of fact--"

"When was the last time you had a pedicure, anyway?"

"Uh," Tommy answers, trying to think. "I think it was that time you and I went together? Anyway, there's still paint on them, so-- Hey!"

Adam had grabbed his foot and was wrenching it around to get a better view.

Tommy squirms, but he's got basically zero leverage at this angle, and Adam digs his thumb right into Tommy's instep, which tickles, so he's too busy shrieking and flopping around to actually escape.

Adam pulls out a nailpolish remover wipe and starts rubbing Tommy's big toe. Tommy holds his breath, counts to three in his head, and tries to roll off the couch onto the floor.

Adam's grip switches faster than Tommy can track and instead of rolling onto the floor, he's facedown across Adam's lap. Adam laughs.

"Fuck you," Tommy says, whining.

Adam shifts him around so he has a better angle for his foot and finishes wiping off the polish. Tommy grabs the Nat' Geo' from the table on Adam's side of the couch and settles in for the long haul.

When Adam finishes the two coats of the dark blue glittery polish he happened to have in his pocket, he smacks Tommy's ass and says "You're done, baby."

Tommy wiggles his toes in Adam's face. "So?"

"Off you get?" Adam suggests hesitantly.

"Nah," Tommy says, glad his smirk is hidden by his hair and the fact that he's facing away from Adam. "I think this is perfect blood-flow reading comprehension position."

Adam sighs, and Tommy can just imagine the exasperated eye-roll he's on the receiving end of.

Another sharp smack to his ass, then, "Brat," Adam mutters as he opens the US Weekly.


End file.
